


break into being

by sanxiu



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble Sequence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 04:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19805155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanxiu/pseuds/sanxiu
Summary: Sandor knows an invitation when it rests its thin little hand on his knuckles.





	break into being

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



Sandor knows an invitation when it rests its thin little hand on his knuckles.

The smile has left her lips, like a sword to its scabbard, but there’s a light in Sansa’s eyes as she regards him that no beating has yet managed to snuff out. Used to be she was an unguarded sun. If he was any of the better men in the room Sandor might pity the change.

When she leaves, the Lady Stark doesn’t ensure he follows; she knows, now, just as he does, that he’ll always come to heel at her feet, one way or another.

* * *

Haste leaves Sansa when the clamour of the hall behind them is hardly a murmur.

Sandor knows the easy way in which she falls back into step astride him is a lie, betrayed by the steeple of her hands across her belly. Still, he leashes his tongue in rare restraint, and lets her play the part.

He’s wet his cock in enough cunts to know how a night like this is about to turn. He’s never had a fuck he’s wanted so much he could die for the need of it and would do most of anything to have it.

* * *

“Tell me,” Sansa says, “if I had come with you, would I truly have remained pure?”

“‘Course you would’ve.” Sandor squints down at her, the suspicion smoldering in his belly only stoked by her calm countenance. “Would’ve kept you clear of all that.”

She looks up at him, then, mouth drawn into a smile sharp enough to draw blood. “Clear even of you?”

Sandor barely feels the snarl splitting his skull in two over the burn of her hand as it cuffs his wrist.

“Do not lie to me, Sir Clegane. Tell me what you would have done to me.”

* * *

Sandor snatches the twig of Sansa’s throat into one gauntlet and forces her back to the stone before he can muzzle the urge.

Anger scrapes down his spine and churns his gut, but there’s something else, there, too, dug in deep and filthy, that has his cock swelling at the collar of his fingers on her skin.

She’s trembling, pink mouth slack, but there’s not a lick of fear in the way she’s looking at him. It’s enough to make him squeeze down, just hard enough to make her eyes go wide.

“Sandor,” she rasps, and it’s all he needs.

* * *

Sansa’s head whips around to follow the sound of muffled footfalls, carried down to the alcove through the hall.

Sandor isn’t gentle when he yanks her back, bones creaking beneath his gauntlet as he forces her chin to her collarbone.

“You think they won’t just have a round with you themselves if they see this?” 

He rams his cock into her, hard, hips keeping her thighs spread wide enough to ache. The slick walls of her cunt clench around him, and he feels her jaw click around a moan.

Anyone could find them.

Sandor’ll kill anyone unlucky enough to manage.

* * *

Even with his hand on her throat and his cock stuffed in her cunt, Sansa still meets his eye.

She’s wrecked, thighs smeared with slick and sweat and the hair of her mound matted with come, and still she looks at him. It makes Sandor want to break her open to see if Littlefinger and Ramsay have left even a scrap of fear behind for him.

He starts to pull out, instead; stops when Sansa palms his nape, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Stay,” she commands. Soft. Hardly a voice left in her to do more than whisper.

Sandor does.


End file.
